


cold blooded

by inevitabletony



Series: Ineffable Husbands Prompts [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, M/M, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-07-28 07:44:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20060491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inevitabletony/pseuds/inevitabletony
Summary: Crowley was currently curled up in Aziraphale’s lap, somewhere he never thought he’d have the privilege to be near, in any context. Aziraphale was running his fingers through his hair and everything was perfect. Logically, Crowley knew that perfection didn’t exist, it was an impossible standard, yet here he was, in perfect bliss.





	cold blooded

**Author's Note:**

> based on this prompt on tumblr from @walkingencyclopediaofweirdmayo:  
**Prompt idea: Crowley wants an excuse to cuddle with Aziraphale without the angel learning Crowley has feelings for him, so he uses being cold blooded as an excuse. Aziraphale isn't dumb though, and he knows that it's not true because Crowley has never had issues like that with the cold before, but he isn't sure WHY Crowley lying to him. Sorry if it's not that good of a prompt**
> 
> ****
> 
> shout out to @aroseofstone for betaing!!!!!!!!!!

Crowley hasn’t felt this content since- well- Crowley has never felt this content. 

He’s warmer than he’s ever been. Including that time when he threw together a galaxy. But it wasn’t really a fair comparison. How could a few stars compare to this? _How could anything?_

Crowley was currently curled up in Aziraphale’s lap, somewhere he never thought he’d have the privilege to be near, in any context. Aziraphale was running his fingers through his hair and everything was perfect. Logically, Crowley knew that perfection didn’t exist, it was an impossible standard, yet here he was, in perfect bliss. 

_How did he get here? Well, the answer was far more straightforward than one might think the pursuit of reaching paradise might be. _

It’s been cold outside, in the mid-40s, far below anything he’d be able to withstand in his snake form, but nothing dangerous so long as he remained in his human corporation. Just a mild bother, no different for him than any of the other eight million people living in London. Something Aziraphale did not know. 

Crowley’s always played up his snake-like tendencies around the angel. At first to antagonize, then to tease, and now to amuse. He’d hiss, flick his tongue to smell the air, and some might say his saunter was Crowley doing his best impersonation of an upward slither. All in all, Aziraphale had every reason to believe Crowley shaped like a human shared most of Crowley’s snake shape characteristics. Including being cold blooded.

This was a notion Crowley never dissuaded Aziraphale of, never seemed important, barely ever came up, and now with this new development, Crowley was never going to correct the assumption.

It started as so many things with Crowley did: with Aziraphale and alcohol. 

Copious amounts of alcohol. 

Crowley was two sheets to the wind- or was it three…odd turn of phrase, never mind- Crowley was absolutely pissed. Certainly not the drunkest he’d ever been but he was struggling to keep himself upright. Sitting on the couch, glasses thrown haphazardly on the table in front of them, head reclined, staring up at the ceiling, trying to listen to what Aziraphale was going on about next to him. Something about pears- no, that didn’t make any sense, well, it did, Aziraphale was fond of pears but that wasn’t it- Paris- maybe, it was beside the point. The point was that Crowley was very inebriated, sitting dangerously close to Aziraphale. Side-to-side, thighs touching, closer than his sober mind could ever handle. 

It wasn’t really his fault when his body started to tilt. It was what drunk bodies did. Had a mind of their own when alcohol was applied, bodies. His body’s mind seemed to hone in on Aziraphale- shocking- and soon enough he was nuzzling Aziraphale’s neck, resting his head on his shoulder. 

He shifted, pulling his legs off the floor and turning towards the angel, curling further up against him, his legs now bent at the knee, thrown over Aziraphale’s lap. 

Crowley vaguely registered that Aziraphale had stopped talking at some point. That was no good, Crowley loved listening to Aziraphale’s voice. He tried to voice his protest but it came out as more of a _ngk_ and a huff through his nose. But six millennia of experience taught Aziraphale well and he slowly started back up. What he was saying was still far beyond Crowley’s grasp. 

He didn’t mean to nod off but it was impossible not to. He was warm and far more comfortable than any demon had the right to be. The world faded around him and before he knew it, he was out like a light. 

Aziraphale was burning up from the inside. 

Crowley was currently drooling on him. On his suit jacket. But that wasn’t why he was upset, he’s been meaning to have it dry cleaned anyhow. Not that he was upset at all. He just- Crowley was _drooling_ on him. His head was buried in Aziraphale’s shoulder and all Aziraphale had to do was shift his head a centimeter and the demon’s hair would be tickling his nose. 

He had been like this all night. Eight hours. Aziraphale hadn’t wanted to wake him- that would be rude- he knew how Crowley loved his sleep, slept the whole nineteenth century away, not that Aziraphale was still miffed about that- so Aziraphale allowed him his sleep and didn’t remove himself from the couch. Purely selfless reasons, truly, nothing to do with how the world felt a little bit lighter with Crowley pressed against him. 

It was now ten in the morning and Crowley was finally beginning to stir. His breathing was growing more irregular and he was making the most- _the only word Aziraphale mind was supplying and really the only word that fit_\- adorable noises in his sleep. Growing louder by the minute. 

Eventually Aziraphale felt Crowley shift. He glanced over at Crowley when he finally lifted his head and blinked blearily at Aziraphale. 

“Good morning, my dear.”

“Huh-“ Crowley mumbled, looking far more disheveled than Aziraphale has ever seen him, “What-“ He looked between them, his legs sprawled over Aziraphale, eyes flicking between their legs and Aziraphale’s face, looking to be processing the scene.

His eyes widened after a moment of this and he quickly scrambled off the couch, falling to the ground in a heap, before quickly jumping onto his feet. He snatched his sunglasses of the coffee table, putting them on quickly.

“Uh- how long was I,“ he made a sweeping gesture towards the couch, coughing in lieu of asking a question. 

“Cuddling up to me?” He paid the scoff Crowley gave no mind, “A few hours.” Eight hours and thirty three minutes. 

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

“Oh, you just looked so peaceful, dear, I couldn’t disturb you.”

Crowley looked alarmed at this and opened his mouth to respond, before closing it again. He did this several times before he seemed to settle on a response. “Cold.” Was all he said. 

“Pardon?”

“S’cold,” 

“It’s cold?”

“Yes, angel. It is cold.” He cleared his throat. “It is cold. And I’m a snake. Literally.” 

“And this means what, exactly?” 

“You said I was cuddling,” he hissed, “I wasn’t cuddling. It’s cold and I’m a snake. And snakes- there’s this thing- _brumation_. Fancy word. Basically just snake hibernation. Got to do it somewhere warm, and my heat lamp is at my apartment and this bookshop-” He motioned around, “It’s fucking cold. Nothing warm, very inconsiderate of you- doesn’t matter- but every once and a while I gotta brumate and you just happened to be the warmest thing around- I wasn’t _snuggling_. Just- y’know- brumating.” He ended this explanation with a shrug and even though he had those blasted glasses covering his eyes, Aziraphale knew he wasn’t making eye contact. 

“Very well,” Aziraphale nodded.

“Very well?” 

“Yes, tickety-boo.” Aziraphale bobbled his head. “This brumating business sounds important-”

Crowley cut across him, “it is.”

“Then feel free to _brumate_ on me whenever you like.”

“Mmph,” Crowley grunted at that, “I- well- I- okay- I- I have to go right now.” He nodded, “Got to go,” He repeated, almost to himself.

He was gone after that, leaving Aziraphale to his thoughts. Those thoughts leading him back to a book he read a while ago, a quick little read he did in the mid-twentieth century about reptiles. He found it quite enlightening on a few of Crowley’s strange mannerisms.

He vividly remembered the section on brumation. He remembered the worry he felt reading about how reptiles couldn’t survive certain temperatures. How closely he paid attention to Crowley during the winters that followed. He eventually found that so long as Crowley was in his human form, the weather didn’t seem to get to him. He certainly didn’t brumate- a state that snakes usually stayed in for fours weeks at least- eight hours wouldn’t even blip on the brumation scale. 

Aziraphale doesn’t understand why Crowley would lie about having difficulty with cold weather. Crowley never lied to him. It was unsettling to say the least. The only silver lining here was Aziraphale now saw first hand what a bad liar Crowley was, knowing for a fact that Crowley could have never successfully lied to him in the past. There wasn’t even anything worth note to lie about, making the whole affair far more confusing. Crowley was drunk and curled around what was nearest to him. No need to convolute things with talk of herpetology.

Whatever it was, Aziraphale decided to give Crowley some time to come to him, not wanting to confront his friend, in the hopes that he was making a bigger deal out of this than what it truly was. Crowley was probably just embarrassed to get caught in such a vulnerable state. They may not be on opposite sides any more, but old habits and such.

Crowley eventually returned to the bookshop. After about a week of avoiding the angel, he returned with little fanfare. He strolled into the shop as he usually did, flipping the open sign to read closed. 

“Oh, you’re back,” Aziraphale beamed, “You’ll never guess what I just discovered,” He rose to his feet very quickly and beckoned Crowley over to where he was, “A first edition Nostradamus-”

He made no mention of last week, for which Crowley felt extremely relieved, and finally allowed himself to relax.

They managed to talk for a few hours without brumation- bloody brumation, can’t believe that’s what he came up with, _he’s gonna have to pretend to hibernate every winter for the rest of his life, which is literally eternity_\- before Aziraphale brought it up.

“So, done any brumating, since we last spoke?”

“Oh, tons,” Crowley answered automatically, “Loads. Brumate city back at my place.” 

“Good.” Aziraphale hummed, “Do you want to- brumate here again? It’s late. Wouldn’t want to send you on your way now.”

“You mean-” Crowley pointed at where Aziraphale was sitting across from him, then back to himself, “I brumate- with you.”

“Yes.”

Crowley took a deep breath, “okay,” he answered, not thinking about the consequences of it. “Cool, yeah.” 

He stood up from the armchair he’s been in all night, less graceful than he usually is, and quickly strode over to Aziraphale on the couch. He jerked forward a bit, considering how to situate himself, before dropping onto the couch, laying his head in Aziraphale’s lap and curling himself into something similar to the fetal position. 

Crowley was tense for a few moments, before Aziraphale careful place a head on his head and started stroking, and, oh, the was lovely, very lovely.

Which was led him back to the start - _content, warm, bliss_.

He didn’t go to sleep this time. Didn’t want to miss a thing. But he did drift. It was impossible not to, with Aziraphale scratching behind his ear like that. 

It went on like this for the next few weeks. Crowley would come over. He and Aziraphale would go one about their usual conversations and drinking, but instead of leaving when they were done, Crowley would curl up around Aziraphale. 

It was perfect. 

Crowley sometimes felt a bit bad about deceiving the angel. But was it really deception? He was getting comfort from Aziraphale’s warmth. It just wasn’t a biological imperative. 

_It was beginning to feel like one though. _

All too soon, winter had come and gone, and for the first time, Crowley was sad to see it end. 

Crowley was in the bookshop on the first night of the year that it had been above seventy degrees and he was sulking. He tried to, as Aziraphale liked to say, buck up, but he couldn’t when he felt like a child who knew he was about to have his dessert taken away. Except instead of dessert being taken from him, it was the physical closeness and intimacy of the other half of his immortal soul being snatched from him. 

Maybe he was being a bit dramatic. He always had next winter, but the earth wasn’t getting any colder, and soon enough it’d be summer all year round’. 

Then what? Couldn’t just go back to being utterly surrounded by Aziraphale. Crowley didn’t think he was ever going to get a proper night’s sleep again if he wasn’t in the angel’s arms.

“Crowley, are you alright?” Aziraphale broke into his thoughts, “You seem troubled.”

“Hm, me, troubled? Nah,” Crowley waved a hand at him, “Just tired. You, continue. I was very interested in this story about, uhm, Larry?”

“Mary.” Aziraphale corrected.

“Yep. She sounds like a lovely lady.”

“Mary is a dog.”  
  
“A lovely one.” Crowley smiled unconvincingly before dropping it at Aziraphale’s look of_ I am more worried about you than when I asked thirty seconds ago_, “Sorry, angel, just a bit tired.” Crowley rubbed his eyes behind his glasses before falling back against the armchair. 

“Oh,” Aziraphale brightened at that, sitting up straighter where he was starting to slump on the couch, “Well, come on then.” He patted the cushion next to him.

“What?” 

“You shouldn’t force yourself to be awake. While you may not have to sleep, I can imagine your body has grown accustomed to it.” Aziraphale explained, “So, come on then.” He said again.

“I don’t- you know- it is March,” Crowley fumbled, “You know that it’s March,” He must know. They went out for dinner, just a few hours ago, Aziraphale was commenting on how lovely the beginnings of spring was. How nice it was to have the sun out again. So, he couldn’t be offering for Crowley to brumate, _he was really beginning to hate that word_, on him when he knew brumation season was up. 

And yet he was.

“Yes, I’m well aware of the time of year,” Aziraphale said slowly, “Not sure how it is relevant.”

“You’re offering for me to, y’know, brumate on you.” Crowley hated to look a gift horse in the mouth (bloody humans and their bloody proverbs) but he didn’t understand. “You know well enough know that brumation season is over.”

Aziraphale looked bemused for a moment. “I thought you had given up that whole brumating charade ages ago, my dear.” He finally said after a long pause.

“Charade?” Crowley spluttered out. “What do you mean by that? Charade?”

“I just thought you had given up the pretense of brumation to settle down next to me quite a while ago.” Aziraphale replied, far too calmly for Crowley’s liking, both of them now sitting up straight.

“You thought- settle- what in the world?” Crowley was very quickly losing his grip on what was going on, “You know that I don’t need to brumate?”  
  
“Of course I know you don’t need to bloody brumate!” Aziraphale burst out, “I’ve known you for six thousand year, in case you’ve forgotten, I think it would have come up.”

“Then why’d you let me cuddle up to you?” It wasn’t making any sense. Why would Aziraphale just accept that Crowley was cozying up to him for no good reason.

“Because it looked like it was doing you a world of good, and it made me feel quite nice, more comfortable than I’ve been in centuries, millennia, even.”

“Made you feel quite nice.” Crowley repeated flatly.

“Yes.” Aziraphale was beginning to look nervous, “Unless I misread the whole thing.”

“What exactly did you read?” 

“I just presumed you wanted a cuddle,” He looked down at his hands, “Maybe I was wrong to assume-”

“No!” Crowley interrupted, “No,” He said much cooler this time, “You were right.” He took a deep breath, “And when you let me cuddle you,” What an awful word, like syrup being poured down his gullet, “Was this out of the kindness of your heart or did you also want to, uh, cuddle with me.” He sped through the last part of the sentence, hoping speed would get him through the mortifying ordeal.

“I don’t think there is anywhere else, on heaven or earth, I’d rather be than in your arms, my dear.” Aziraphale said so earnestly that even the most self loathing depths of Crowley’s mind had to believe him. 

“Ah,” Crowley wasn’t sure how to reply, suddenly feeling quite misty eyed, “Good to know.” He cleared his throat, standing up, “So, I’m assuming the offer still stands?” Crowley quickly walked around the table between them to stand in front of Aziraphale, taking off his glasses.

“You know,” Aziraphale said, standing up suddenly, faces now inches from one another, “I have a bed upstairs. Much more comfortable that the couch.”

“Why, angel_, I never_.” Packing as much scandal into his voice as he could, not able to contain a grin.

“Oh, do shut up, you know what I mean,” Aziraphale flushed, “Unless you want to sleep on the couch, I’d be happy to take the bed alone.”

“You don’t even sleep.” Crowley teased.

“I could start.” He said with a pout that didn’t hide the brightness in his eyes.

“You could.” Crowley murmured, bring a hand up to cup the back of Aziraphale’s head, staring at him for a moment, before making a decision. “I love you.” He nearly whispered the words, yet they still filled the room, and Crowley’s shoulders let go of something they’ve been carrying for six thousand years.

“Oh, my dear, I love you too.” Aziraphale answered, beaming, “I think you’ve taken a permanent residence in my heart.”

And really how could Crowley not kiss him after that. 


End file.
